


Wanting Memories

by sixappleseeds



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Force-Sensitive Bodhi, M/M, YEAH I SAID IT, here have some feelings, i have too many feelings for this character, i shoved them into words for better foistage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixappleseeds/pseuds/sixappleseeds
Summary: Bodhi Rook could not think about what he was doing, because if he thought about it, he wouldn’t be able to do his job. And if he couldn’t do his job, his family would starve. It turned out not thinking wasn’t so difficult, once you got used to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [the song by Ysaye M. Barnwell](https://youtu.be/vW2TpW4gCt8), which I've decided is very much Bodhi's song, at least for this fic

Returning to Jedha was an exercise in dissociation, every time. The rooftops below were familiar only because he had flown over them before; that street there was ordinary, without significance; the brown adobe against the blue sky was notable only for its striking contrast.  
  
He was a cargo pilot, and he was doing his job.  
  
The Jedha of his childhood, before curfews and bombs, before the destruction of the temple and the theft of its holiest objects, before his family fled and before he took this job, those memories he kept carefully tucked away in a secret corner of his heart. Only after the longest trips, only when he was on the fringes of exhausted sleep, would he let himself go back there.    
  
Then he would remember the scents of his city in the early mornings, when the bakers opened their awnings and desert dew collected in the shadows by the temple. He could still hear the morning chants, and recall how they echoed off buildings so it seemed like the whole city was singing. He could still see that deep azure of the sky just before dawn, and, if he was very, very tired, he could still trick his heart into lifting up with the promise of a new day.  
  
That Jedha did not exist anymore.  
  
This Jedha, this job, was a means to keep his family fed. The better life they’d dreamed of, in whispered conversations late at night, in schemes built on hope and little else, and in so many credits saved, and spent, getting out of that sun-baked city, had foundered hard against the realities of starting again in another place. The good life only came to those who could afford it, and his family had never been wealthy.  
  
There was a kind of intuition that guided him — the voice of his ancestors, or so his mother used to say — and it had helped him through dodgy jumps and tricky landings, had saved him and his crew from malfunctioning ships, more than once, and prodded him toward co-pilots worth trusting. He’d come to rely on that little nudge; it had seen him safely across the galaxy and back.  
  
But it always shut up when he returned to Jedha.  
  
So Bodhi Rook could not think about what he was doing, because if he thought about it, he wouldn’t be able to do his job. And if he couldn’t do his job, his family would starve. It turned out not thinking wasn’t so difficult, once you got used to it.  
  
Eadu quickly became his favorite drop point, if for no other reason than its constant storms were so comprehensively different than anything he’d witnessed before. The first time they’d landed there, he’d stood on the tarmac until he was soaked through, unable to stop grinning. That much water was utterly ridiculous. He’d been freezing afterwards, and had caught a cold from sitting in damp clothes for the next two cycles, but he imagined the last grains of Jedha’s dust sloughing off of him, and he imagined he was wholly new.  
  
  
.  
  
  
The next time they made a drop on Eadu, he took a wrong turn on his way back from the mess and wound up near the labs.  It wasn’t that he’d been lost — you couldn’t grow up in Jedha City and not gain a decent sense of direction, among other things — but that he’d let his curiosity get the better of him. If anyone found him here, he’d claim to be turned around, a new pilot tired after a long flight, still confused by the layout of this station. It was an entirely plausible explanation.  
  
In truth, he wanted to see what they were doing here, with these stolen pieces of his home.  
  
He padded down the corridor, doing his best to pretend he belonged.  He used to do this all the time, sneak into the temple to hear the chanters up close, let the echos of their songs surround him as he walked on with assumed purpose, trying to catch a glimpse of the crystals before the Guardians caught him.  
  
There were open doors up ahead. He lifted his head and quickened his stride.  
  
“Hey.” A gruff voice behind him. He walked two more paces before a hand grabbed his shoulder. “Hey!” And shoved him against the wall.  
  
One Trooper, hand still gripping Bodhi’s arm, a staff sergeant, and a taller, unkept-looking man gazed down at him with various flavors of interest.  
  
“How did you get here?” the staff sergeant demanded. “This wing is for authorized personnel only.”  
  
“Oh!” Bodhi swallowed. The Trooper’s grip was making his fingers tingle. “Um.” He peered down the hall, let his eyes widen. “Oh! I’m sorry, am I...” Blinked slowly. “This isn’t the way to the barracks, then, I take it?”  
  
The tall man snorted. Bodhi looked at him gratefully, even as the Trooper relaxed his grip and the staff sergeant sighed.  
  
“It’s not funny, Erso,” he said, with the tone of someone who’d had this conversation before.  
  
“I see no harm done,” Erso replied, eyes bright. “Let him be. But,” he added to Bodhi. “This section’s invitation-only. Go on back now, and get some sleep.”  
  
“Of course,” he murmured. The Trooper tugged on his arm and he shuffled a step forward.  
  
_Trust this one_.  
  
His intuition was rarely so articulate. He stumbled, and caught Erso’s eye again, for a moment, a heartbeat, before the staff sergeant snarled about insubordination and Bodhi Rook dropped his gaze, mumbled apologies, and let the Trooper escort him bodily back the way he’d come.    
  
  
.  
  
  
He met Erso again three weeks later, entirely on accident. His crew had landed a few hours before, in the middle of the night, but the storms once again necessitated a long layover. Everyone else immediately found a bunk and passed out. Bodhi, who appreciated solitude when he could get it, sat alone by one of the small windows in the mess instead.  
  
Dawn came so gradually here, amidst the rains and the rocks, until you realized you could see across the ravine without remembering when, precisely, that moment had happened. Did he find it so compelling because it was beautiful, or just because it was the perfect opposite of dawns at home?  He worried at his fingers, too tired to sleep and not hungry enough for food, and tried to make out the chimneys of rock in the darkness.  
  
“Mind if I join you?”  
  
Bodhi started. There was a reflection in the window, someone behind him —  
  
He turned, and managed to nod up at Erso.  “Oh. Sure, yes of course.”  
  
The man was dressed like a civilian, though clearly an important one if he could walk around at all hours looking that disheveled. He set two steaming mugs down on the table and sat across from Bodhi.  
  
“Hot chocolate,” Erso said with a little grin. “I don’t know that it helps me sleep, but when I’m already awake I find it comforting. I saw you in here, and took the liberty of assuming you might enjoy one, too.”  
  
“Oh,” Bodhi said again. He pulled a mug over and cradled it in his hands. “Ah, thank you.” If it tasted as sweet as it smelled there would definitely be no sleeping for him, either.  
  
Then, because he never could trust himself to be deferential even when he wasn’t exhausted, he said, “Do you have pre-dawn drinks with all the pilots or just the insubordinate ones?”  
  
Erso laughed. Bodhi took a moment to appreciate how nice it sounded, and how it made years drop from Erso’s face. He wondered if he could make him laugh again.  
  
“What’s your name?” Erso asked.  
  
“Bodhi Rook,” he said, “Imperial cargo pilot.” He held the mug to his lips but didn’t drink. “I won’t tell you I can fly anything, but only because there’s a limit to the variety of cockpits they let cargo pilots into. Ask me again in a year. You?”  
  
Erso was still smiling. “Galen Erso,” he said. “I’m something of a scientist, here.”  
  
That explained the haircut, at least.  
  
“What do you wish you were?” he asked before he could stop himself.  
  
It was not the kind of thing you just said to someone even when you could blame the exhaustion, but something in Erso’s voice, weariness where there should’ve been pride, perhaps, made Bodhi pretend his mother hadn’t taught him manners.  
  
Erso lifted his mug and closed his eyes. “I was a farmer for a little while. I was terrible at it,” he added with a crooked grin, “but it was a good life. I learned a lot about the weather, and soil acidity, and patience.”  
  
A sudden burst of lightning illuminated the ravine for an instant. Bodhi sat back, blinking away afterimages of towering rocks. Erso opened his eyes and looked down at the mug of chocolate still steaming in Bodhi’s hands.  
  
“Oh, right.” It was almost enough simply to be warm again; it almost wouldn’t matter if he didn’t like the drink. He took a cautious sip. “Oh! This is quite good.”  
  
“It’s one of the small benefits of being a scientist again,” Erso said. “Couldn’t afford chocolate as a farmer.”  
  
“Well, thank you for sharing.” Bodhi tried to ignore how surreal all of this was. Scientist or no, Erso almost certainly outranked him. He shouldn’t be sitting here. He certainly shouldn’t be talking to him like this. Bodhi took another sip of his chocolate. “We only ever had tea at home.”  
  
A moment passed, during which Bodhi wondered why he hadn’t just gone to the barracks like the rest of his crew, why he’d wandered in here to be found by this quiet man with chocolate and kind eyes. Why he defaulted to honesty even when it rarely got him anything but in trouble.  
  
“Where’s home?” Erso asked.  
  
Bodhi gazed back out the window. “Jedha.” He sighed. “I’m from Jedha. Jedha City.”  
  
There was another pause. Erso also shifted, set his elbow on the table to better look outside. “Do you miss it?” he said eventually.  
  
He should not. He should deny it, he should demonstrate his loyalty to the Empire in a few simple words so there could be no doubt, not in Erso and not in him, that Bodhi Rook was anything but a steadfast servant of his Emperor.  
  
_Trust this one_ , murmured the voices of his ancestors, or his nudges, or whatever it was. _You can trust this one._  
  
Bodhi set down his mug.  
  
“More than I can bear, sometimes.”  
  
Outside, the rain had slowed, though it was impossible to tell if the storm was clearing or just taking a break for a few minutes. Lightning still flashed intermittently. Bodhi wondered suddenly if those rocks out there had ever been dry, if they’d ever collected dust, or morning dew. Longing swamped him, for that infernal red dust of home, and he wished he had not been quite so thorough, all those weeks ago, in washing it away.  
  
“I wanted a peaceful life,” Erso murmured. “I created the illusion of it, and I thought, for a  time, that that was enough. But what good is an illusion when you know you’ve created it yourself? The problems I ran from found me anyway.”  
  
“I suppose,” Bodhi said, into the silence and half to himself, “the only thing is to keep going, then. Keep going, and hope it gets better one day.”  
  
“Hope,” Erso said, mouth twisting into something that might’ve been a smile. “Yes, I suppose that’s all we really have, isn’t it?”  
  
That wasn’t what Bodhi had meant, but before he could attempt to sort out his words Erso had drained the rest of his chocolate and was standing. He pushed a hand through his hair and his grin became a little closer to genuine.  
  
“I ought to be going,” he said. “Thank you for the company, Bodhi Rook. Sleep well, when you’re finally able to. I hope we meet again.”  
  
Bodhi stared after him. He sipped his own chocolate, but it had gone cool and sludgy. Outside, the faintest blue washed over the ravine and picked out the soaring chimneys and valleys of rock. Dawn had come.  
  
  
.  
  
  
They met again over a month later. Bodhi and his crew had been granted a whole twelve hour reprieve, and that was before any weather delays. His crew, sensible people that they were, once again made directly for the barracks. It had been a long month. Insurgent attacks on Jedha were becoming alarmingly commonplace; over a dozen Troopers had been killed in the past two weeks alone. Just this morning, local time, the pick-up team immediately after his was targeted, and Bodhi had watched in horror as the ship was swarmed, ransacked, and set on fire.    
  
Now, as he stared out the window, again alone and sleepless in the middle of the night, his brain reminded him that he’d recognized one of those insurgents. She and her family had lived around the corner, and they’d all played together as children. They’d played ball in the street, right in the street after dark, when heat of the day had passed.  
  
He couldn’t remember her name.  
  
She and her brothers were all dead now, anyway.  
  
Bodhi dug his thumbnail into the skin at the base of his third finger until that hurt more than anything else.  
  
There were pills to help you sleep. Some weren’t even addictive, not if you only used them once and a while. He should take them, he should’ve taken them when he landed, because this level of exhaustion was dangerous in more ways than one.  
  
Instead he sat, curled in a dark little alcove between the mess and that corridor near the labs, and watched the storms outside. The alcove contained a padded bench, a surprising touch of comfort in this rather spartan place, and he reasoned that if he did feel inclined to close his eyes, he might even be able to sleep here.  
  
He pulled his legs up under him and leaned into the wall. The same forces that had prompted his family to flee, and inspired him to take this job, had turned his neighbors into insurgents. The difference was not in their circumstances. Her family and his, the struggles they’d confronted were essentially the same.  
  
But what good did getting yourself killed do for anyone?  
  
He should get up, find some of those pills, stop thinking for a while.  
  
Doors opened down the corridor behind him. Bodhi slouched further into the bench and willed the approaching footsteps to keep going. It suddenly seemed possible that this little alcove was entirely decorative, that actually using it was prohibited and he would, if caught, be made to leave.  
  
The footsteps drew closer, and then paused. Bodhi closed his eyes.  
  
“Oh, hello,” Galen Erso said. “I’d wondered if that was your ship, earlier.”  
  
Uncurling, he looked behind him. The corridor’s night lighting created more shadows than it extinguished, but Bodhi could see Erso’s face was scruffy with a days-old beard and his hair hung lank around his ears. His eyes were smiling.  
  
“Wondering about me, were you?”  
  
Erso’s smile reached his mouth. “Yes,” he said. “Would you like company?”  
  
“Yes,” Bodhi said. If there was anyone in his entire acquaintance he wanted to be with right now, it was probably Galen Erso. It occurred to him to be glad he was swamped with this particular mood on Eadu, and not somewhere else.  
  
“You keep strange hours for a scientist,” he added as Erso sat beside him. The bench probably hadn’t been designed for multiple persons, if indeed it had ever been intended for persons at all. Bodhi could’ve leaned the other way and laid his head on Erso’s shoulder.  
  
“On the contrary,” Erso said. “I keep perfect hours for a scientist. No one ever expects us to sleep, and certainly not when the rest of the world is sleeping. _That_ would be strange. Suspicious, even.”  
  
The alcove was even darker than the corridor, but Bodhi thought Erso’s smile turned a little crooked as he said this. Outside, lightning flashed and suddenly Erso’s eyes were on him, direct and very bright. “And how are you, Bodhi Rook?”  
  
Bodhi blinked. “I’m fine? I’m...”  
  
Erso’s gaze was almost palpable. Bodhi drew a breath, to repeat himself, maybe. But Erso had murmured his name, had made the question seem sincere and important and not trivial at all, and “fine” wasn’t true anyway.  
  
“I’m exhausted,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m so tired I barely know what I’m doing anymore.”  
  
He wanted to say more. This moment, this man, inspired a kind of honesty in Bodhi he rarely indulged even privately, and suddenly he wanted very badly to talk and talk until he had nothing left inside to say. The silence stretched between them. Bodhi remembered how he used to sit under the temple portico on blazing hot evenings and wait for the Guardians to begin their sundown songs, for that first breathless moment when the air filled with harmony. He wondered now at how silence could feel so full and still at the same time.  
  
“I think I could live with it,” he murmured at last, staring out the window. “All this? I think I could live with it if I knew it was making something better.”  
  
Erso sighed, the sound somehow as weary as Bodhi felt. “Yes,” he said. “Me too.” He shifted so their shoulders bumped, and it seemed to Bodhi that Erso leaned into him for just a moment. Bodhi leaned back, just for a moment.  
  
“I don’t know...” He gripped his hands, as much for distraction as to stop himself from reaching for Erso.  
  
“What?”  
  
He slouched. It pressed him into Erso, and he stayed there. Unintentional touch wasn’t anywhere close to good enough but it was better than nothing. The words were welling up inside him, and there didn’t seem any point, anymore, to keeping them in. His fingers found their way to his lips so each one slipped past.  
  
“What if there was a way to make it better?” he whispered. “What am I even doing? I’m _complicit_. When I stop to think about it, I —”    
  
Bodhi curled into himself, wrapped his arms around his legs to grip his ankles, and mumbled into his knees. “I don’t know how to do any better.”  
  
Softly, he felt a hand rest on his back, and shuddered.  
  
“I can’t blow up my ship,” he went on. “I’ve thought of that, but they’ll just find another pilot. Nothing will change, except I’ll be dead and my family will starve.”  
  
“You shouldn’t tell me these things,” Erso murmured.  
  
“Of course not.” Bodhi turned his head but didn’t uncurl. Erso was stroking his back now, so gently he couldn’t stop shivering. He was lost. “You’ll have me executed for treason,” he said, “and then my family will starve. Everything ends with me as a failure.”  
  
The silence after that sliced through him, and he kicked himself for feeling so surprised. But Erso hadn’t removed his hand. It was warm, resting over Bodhi’s shoulder blades. Bodhi realized he was still trembling.  
  
“That’s what you’re so afraid of,” Erso said at last.  
  
“Can you really be afraid of something,” he muttered to his kneecaps. “If you know it’s what you are?”  
  
“I’m afraid,” Erso said quietly. “That I have already failed.”  
  
Bodhi replayed those words in his head even as he felt Erso’s hand fall away. Then he pushed himself up.  
  
“What?” In the darkness, Erso’s expression was almost impossible to see. Bodhi twisted, set a hand on Erso’s thigh to peer more closely at him. “But — but surely you’ve done... I mean — all your work...?”  
  
Erso turned away. The next lightning flash revealed those bright eyes, closed.  
  
“The works of the Empire do not make anything better,” he said, voice low.  
  
Bodhi’s hand was still on Erso’s thigh. Slowly, he brought his other hand up and brushed the hair away from Erso’s face. Erso shuddered, once, and then he turned to lean into Bodhi, lean until his forehead rested in the curve of Bodhi’s neck and his arm slipped around Bodhi’s waist. Bodhi stopped breathing. Someone’s heart was beating rapidly, and each point of contact between them was a lit fuse. If he breathed, he would ignite.  
  
“Some policy or another prohibits this,” Erso whispered after a moment. Bodhi swallowed. Erso’s hand rested lightly on his lower back.  
  
“Of course it does.” Bodhi carded his fingers through hair that was softer than it looked. “Comfort and affection are strictly against Empire policy.”  
  
“What a waste,” Erso mumbled. Bodhi felt the flick of eyelashes against his skin. “What a waste of a life without that.”  
  
He took a cautious breath. “Well,” he said. “Our lives aren’t over yet.” It was a struggle to keep his voice light. Erso had begun tracing his fingers up and down Bodhi’s back, and he was half-hard and quaking with wanting.  “You’ve already failed. I’m about to fail. What a pair of tired fools we are. Galen,” he sighed, and heard his voice go hoarse. So much for keeping things light.  
  
Erso pulled away, and Bodhi could’ve wept, wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t make some noise of protest, but Erso’s eyes were open again, and his voice, when he spoke, was warm.  
  
“Bodhi.” He took Bodhi’s hand and held it between both of his. “Yes. What a pair we are. Next time you’re here...”  
  
Bodhi brought his other hand up to cup Erso’s cheek, and Erso leaned into his touch. Bodhi felt his heart turn over.  
  
“Next time you’re here,” he murmured, his lips brushing Bodhi’s wrist. “Will you find me?”  
  
“Yes.”  He had no idea if there would be a next time. Was there still kyber left to strip away? Could he stomach one more trip to Jedha? “Yes,” he said anyway. “Next time I’ll come find you.”  
  
  
.  
  
  
Next time was less than two weeks later, and Bodhi did not bother to pretend he was doing anything other than seeking out Galen Erso. He had nine hours over what passed for a day on Eadu. He showered, changed into his cleaner jumpsuit, and walked back to the little alcove.  
  
Erso was already there. He smiled, and Bodhi felt something in the vicinity of his heart bloom again, like a new day back home. He took Erso’s outstretched hand.  
  
“Come on, then,” Erso said.  
  
  
.  
  
  
He’d expected them to collide, like meteor, or a crash landing. He’d expected to soar directly into the solidity of Galen Erso and find oblivion. He’d dreamed about it, had wondered if the reality would feel as stunning as imagining it had last week, when he’d stolen a few extra minutes in the fresher and wound up on his knees, gasping. He wondered when he would end up on his knees, today.  
  
By the time they arrived at Erso’s quarters, a small suite on the other side of the labs, Bodhi had shoved both hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He took a breath, let it out slowly, then took another. There was a sitting room, he noted. Fresher. Nice windows, standard gloomy view, bedroom. Big bed. Thank the stars for that.  
  
Erso locked the door and spread his hands. “It’s been a very long time for me, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “I... I want you, if that helps. I admit I’m surprised, but certainly pleased, that you seem to want me.”    
  
The cleaner jumpsuit was bulky and ill-fitting, but it couldn’t hide everything. Bodhi smirked. “Yes.” His voice was steady enough, at least. He took a few steps toward Erso. “I want you.”  
  
When they came together, it was not like a crash landing, or a conflagration, or anything else Bodhi had imagined. Erso — _Galen_ — was gentle, almost hesitant, and touched Bodhi as if he was something wondrous. As if this touching, and being touched, was wondrous. Bodhi heard himself gasp as Galen kissed his neck, and heard Galen’s laugh as he tugged them both toward the bed, and he felt the inferno within him calm into something warm and sweet, like syrup, or chocolate.  
  
His focus narrowed as they shed their clothes and fell into bed, narrowed down to the sensation of skin on skin, of his mouth on Galen’s, and of being wrapped tight and held close. He heard the sounds of their gasps and laughs — Galen had a breathy, surprised little laugh that Bodhi found himself echoing, until it felt like they were creating joy between them — and he reveled in the murmured jokes, and directions, and inarticulate praise they exchanged. He trembled as Galen’s stubble rubbed against his thighs, and smiled to feel Galen arch under his hand.  
  
Here was oblivion, or something very like it, except the release did not leave him shattered, as it always did in his daydreams. He remembered how dawn used to turn the sky gold, back home, and how he’d stand on the roof and feel like the shutters around his heart had been thrown open, to let in all that light. It was not a feeling he’d thought he would ever experience again, except in memory.    
  
Galen laughed when he came at last. Bodhi bent to lick the sweat off his neck, felt Galen’s fingernails brush down his back, and wondered if maybe, in a small way, he hadn’t helped make something better after all.  
  
  
.  
  
  
“I could make provision for your family,” Galen murmured, later, as the gloomy day edged again toward night.  
  
The words sank slowly downward, like feathers, or ash, drifting into Bodhi’s consciousness. He watched them, felt the shape of them, vaguely observed how they materialized against this quiet, comfortable darkness.  
  
“Wait.” He shoved off Galen’s chest. “What did you say?”  
  
Galen sat up more slowly, propping himself against the pillows. He turned the lamp on dim. “Your family,” he said. “I could set up an account, to make anonymous deposits at irregular intervals. It wouldn’t be much, I’m sorry, but, should anything happen...”  
  
Bodhi stared, willing his brain to kick back into gear. Part of him was shocked at Galen’s presumption. But not, he realized as he sat half-wrapped in blankets, a very big part of him. In an obscure way, he’d made this decision already. Maybe he’d even made it months ago. Now, however, the illusion revealed, he could no longer pretend he hadn’t been its architect.  
  
“You think the Alliance will protect them? Should... should anything happen?”  
  
“I think,” Galen said after a pause, “Saw Gerrera’s people will be better able to do that.”  
  
The blankets were too much, all of a sudden. Bodhi kicked at them, accidentally kicked Galen in the process, and nearly fell out of bed. He stood, shook himself, and padded to the window. Beyond his own reflection, there wasn’t much to see.  
  
“You know, I don’t especially want to die,” he murmured, staring at himself. “Or, no. I do want to die, when I’m an old man, happy and back in my city, with my family in my house and the dawn chants echoing through the streets. That’s how I imagine my death.” He looked back at Galen. “Anything else is terrifying.”  
  
He swallowed and closed his eyes. Oblivion never lasted long enough, and even the best moments became only memories eventually. All of that openness in his heart just made more room for reality to leach in later.  
  
“What if I’m not brave enough, Galen?” he whispered. “What if I die for some stupid reason, because I wasn’t brave enough to imagine anything else?”  
  
Galen was in front of him. Bodhi blinked open his eyes, stared blearily into Galen’s as he cupped Bodhi’s face in his hands, and brushed his thumbs over his tears.  
  
“Neither of us can predict the future,” Galen said softly. “But I do know this: that you have a good heart, and in your heart, you are brave, and so long as you stay true to what’s in your heart, you’ll do the right thing.”  
  
A sigh caught in his throat as Bodhi nodded. He didn’t believe Galen, but it felt good to hear, and to think that maybe Galen believed it. He thought he could try, too.    
  
  
.  
  
  
The last time Bodhi Rook arrived on Eadu, even the hope of returning home, the dream he hadn’t known he still carried, was gone. The rain soaked his jumpsuit and ran down into his boots, making them squelch as he moved. He wondered if any of his new crew would understand the particular grief of feeling the last of Jedha’s dust slough away, on this planet that was never dry enough for dust.  
  
Bodhi shook himself. _This is for you, Galen_ , he thought, the words like a talisman and a ground, holding him steady in the tumult of this bravery he’d sought. _This is for you_.  
  



End file.
